


Parley

by ArgentGale



Category: Catalyst: A Rogue One Novel - James Luceno, Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, M/M, Orson pushes Wilhuff to the edge, Tarkrennic - Freeform, please accept this helping of trash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 13:56:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8893270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArgentGale/pseuds/ArgentGale
Summary: Wilhuff Tarkin has grown quite tired of the brash Director Krennic's constant disregard for protocol and chain of command.  When he summons the Director to his office to address this, thanks to Krennic's manipulation it becomes a much more involved lesson than Tarkin bargained for.Parley:  To have a discussion, especially with an enemy





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Переговоры](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10063658) by [Protego_Maxima](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Protego_Maxima/pseuds/Protego_Maxima), [Star_Wars_dark_Side](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Star_Wars_dark_Side/pseuds/Star_Wars_dark_Side)



> Thanks to White_Rainbow for dragging me into the Tarkrennic trash pile. I was hooked way before Rogue One came out and that movie only fanned the flames.

Krennic strode down the corridor with a smug, self-satisfied smile upon his lips.

Tarkin’s holo had been terse and to the point, instructing Orson to see him in his office immediately.  He did not state what he wished to discuss although Orson was certain he had a pretty good idea what was on the Governor’s mind. 

Krennic’s grin widened. Really what it all boiled down to was Tarkin’s simmering jealousy. Well…in Orson’s mind, anyway.   What else but jealousy would be the reason for Wilhuff’s icy glares?  He was always skulking about, breathing down Krennic’s neck and taking every opportunity to point out each and every infraction no matter how, in Orson’s opinion, slight and inconsequential.

The answer was simple

 _Jealousy_.

Jealousy of Orson Krennic’s youth.  His bravado.  His ability to take chances and get results without the nuisance of going through the proper chain of command, or as Krennic preferred to call it: bootlicking.

Krennic made certain to be prompt, breezing into Tarkin’s office with his cape swirling dramatically behind him, that smile still upon his lips, and his glacial gaze unwavering, meeting the Governor’s in a direct challenge.  As soon as he entered Tarkin’s office tension flared, filling the room with an oppressive presence as the men sized one another up.

As he boldly stared the Governor down, Krennic mused to himself; _Go on._ _Give me your best. It’s is your move, Governor._

As per usual, Wilhuff Tarkin did not rise when Orson entered the room.  He merely steepeled his fingers and leveled an icy, appraising, glare. His lips were pressed in a tight line, and he did not need to speak to convey the annoyance that was surging through him.  He was so weary of dealing with the repercussions of the brash director’s actions.

“Director.”  Tarkin’s Imperial accent rolled the “r”. “Orson…Krennic.” Tarkin uttered the name with a hint of a sneer, as if the very act of speaking it left a foul taste in his mouth.  “You are…on time for a change.”

Krennic smiled and nodded, and then bowed slightly, “Governor.  To what do I owe this…pleasure?”   Krennic deliberately stressed the final word.

Tarkin’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly before speaking.

Krennic knew Tarkin had a habit of doing that when he was on the cusp of becoming…unsettled. 

Orson smiled inwardly.

“Do you know why I have summoned you here?  Taking my precious time to speak with your…pathetic self? Hmm?”  With a soft sigh Tarkin lowered his hands now so that his palms were now pressed flat upon the desk.

Krennic now observed that Tarkin was flexing his fingertips against the flat surface, signaling loud and clear the Moff was trying his very best to maintain a collected demeanor.

_He’s anxious for some reason. Agitated. Interesting.  It was not the easiest task to get Tarkin ruffled._

Orson felt a smug sense of accomplishment.

_Finally._

“Sir I haven’t the slightest idea. And please…can we make this brief?  My shuttle is due to depart within the hour.”

Tarkin’s lips curled into a rueful smile. “Oh.  Well then…far be it for me to inconvenience you.  Really….Orson. We need to address your blatant disregard for chain of command. For decorum. For proper procedure and protocol.”

The corners of Krennic’s eyes crinkled merrily as he smiled, closing the distance Tarkin’s desk with a cocky swagger.  “Why…Wilhuff…”  Pausing before Tarkin’s gleaming desk, Krennic picked up a scale model of prototype super star destroyer displayed there, examining it with his lips pursed, and then running a gloved hand suggestively over it before returning it back to the desk.

As Krennic predicted, addressing Tarkin by his first name had the desired effect. If looks could kill, Orson would have been vaporized into nothing right there on the spot.

Wilhuff’s blood was up and that is _exactly_ what Orson wanted.

Takin’s lip twitched.

“How. _Dare_. You.”  The words unfurled, smooth and venomous.  A more levelheaded person who possessed common sense (and who never would have goaded Tarkin to this point in the first place) would have immediately backed down. Begged the Governor’s pardon for being such a blathering nuisance before taking their leave, perhaps uttering a prayer that their death to be a quick one as they did so.

Not Orson.

No, Orson enjoyed this little game.  His blood was up as well.  What had started as merely a mission to annoy Wilhuff Tarkin as much as possible shifted tack into something else entirely.

It had moved into conquest territory.

_Did he…dare pursue this?_

To be certain Orson Krennic had always adored a challenge.

Breaking rules.

Taking risks to attain what he desired.

Yes. He would pursue this.

Savoring the quickening of his heart, his breath coming a bit quicker between slightly parted lips, he boldly leaning forward, placing his palms flat upon the desk, Orson’s tongue darted out to slowly wet his bottom lip.  “How dare I…what?  Call you by your name?  Wilhuff?” 

His voice had lowered to an almost seductive timbre.

Tarkin sat stone silent, lips parted slightly in shock.  

His eyes again narrowed.

 “You will obey protocol. And you will address your superiors with _respect_.”  Tarkin’s voice was a study in barely contained fury.

Krennic maintained his stance, not even flinching. “You called me Orson. I figured this was a casual conversation.”  Krennic cocked an eyebrow, “Perhaps one in which we address the root of our discourse.  Your constant…haranguing me.  Picking every little thing I do apart. Reporting me….tattling on me like a nattering first year cadet for any supposed infraction.”

“I hardly call taking a fleet to a system and goading them into conflict a…supposed infraction.” Wilhuff snarled.

“Yes but the results were well worth it, weren’t they?  That system was rich in resources the Empire direly needs.  Really Wilhuff just admit it. You are jealous.  Jealous I took a…bit of a risk…and came out on…top.”

Krennic’s words purred from his lips.  “You don’t like others being on…top…do you Wilhuff?”

Tarkin stared blankly before he spat, “Jealous? Of… _you_?  Of…what?  That?  That was pure luck, not an act of tactical brilliance.”  Tarkin looked as if he were unsure whether to burst out in laughter or fly into a fit of rage.

Krennic straightened.  “Well then perhaps it is jealousy over another of my talents.”  Orson’s lips curled into a lazy smirk.  “You know my reputation.” 

“Of being an insolent, entitled ass?  Yes. Yes I know it very well. Much to my dismay.”

Krennic chuckled lightly and then clucked softly.

“No. Oh no Wilhuff, my…other…reputation.”

Realization slowly dawned on Tarkin’s face.  Sneering he hissed, “You are a disgusting ingrate.”

It was not lost on Orson that Tarkin’s bluster had begun to falter ever so slightly. And was that a flush of pink rising upon those razor sharp cheekbones? 

Krennic studied his glove thoughtfully before musing, “Really. It must be years since you have…well...you know…had any fun of the carnal variety.  I mean…at your age.”  He gave a low huff of amusement.

Orson knew he was treading a dangerous line.  His heart pounded flush with adrenaline. His trousers had grown uncomfortably tight.

Danger was _such_ an aphrodisiac.

The thrill of pushing. Seeing just how far he could take this.

Did he want this? 

Oh _yes_.  Yes he did. And there was no turning back now.

Once Orson Krennic set his sights on something he did whatever it took to obtain it.  And his growing curiosity, which was beginning to border on a bit of an obsession, over Wilhuff Tarkin needed to be satisfied.  He had heard of the Moff’s rather numerous romantic exploits.  He wondered if age had done anything to dampen the Moff’s…talents.  Or like a fine wine had he only aged to perfection? 

Krennic was never one to pass over the potential for a good fuck.

Wilhuff remained silent but lifted his chin defiantly.  His eyes glittered, sharp and feral.  His chest heaved as he drew a deep, steadying breath.

Krennic forged on.

“How many years has it been?  For you?  I mean…that can be the only explanation of why you are in such a sour disposition all the time.”  Orson smirked, “You really should take it out, dust it off, and use it once in a while.”

Silence.

Krennic’s form shook with barely repressed laughter.  Looking past Tarkin he murmured, “Really.  What DID your lovers cry out when, or shall we say… _if_ , you pleasured them?  Wilhuff? Moff? Governor?  Or did they say nothing at all because the whole affair was so very underwhelming?”

Tarkin’s face remained blank and then, in an unprecedented move, Tarkin stood, chair screeching in complaint as he arose.

Tarkin calmly moved from behind his desk, strolling almost casually with his expression unreadable, until he stood beside Krennic. Then, with no hint of warning, Tarkin hauled back and backhanded Orson with such force the wind was knocked from him, causing Orson to stagger and fall into the desk.  Tiny galaxies of light danced in his vision and pain flared and then dulled into a dull throb that pulsed in time with his heartbeat over his cheek.   A loud “huff” escaped Orson’s lips as Tarkin then grasped and pulled his wrists tight and fast behind Krennic’s back, squeezing them in a vice grip while at the same time taking his other arm and forcefully pushed Krennic face first down upon the desk.

The whole process was over in a matter of seconds, before Krennic’s mind could even fully process what had occurred.

There was only silence as Tarkin held him there.  Pain lanced its way up Orson’s arms but he refused to give Tarkin the pleasure of acknowledging the discomfort. The desk was cool and smooth against Krennic’s cheek and idly he wondered if a bruise would later bloom, a twin to which the one that would surely appear after Tarkin’s incredibly forceful blow.  

Krennic could also feel the insistent press of Tarkin’s stiffening cock against his ass.  Through the thick material of his trousers, it felt rather impressive.

_That’s it. That is what I wanted.  Get a bit a…rise out of you.  See if your blood still runs hot you old wolf._

Sucking in his breath Krennic managed a choked laugh.  

“Ah…s…so it still works.”

Tarkin said nothing, only tightened his grip, using his free hand to roughly grab a fistful of Krennic’s hair, keeping his face pushed into the desk.  His rage was palpable but his voice was low and controlled as he murmured, “Rest assured my many lovers have been more than satisfied.  You wouldn’t know the first thing about satisfying a lover, as it seems you stick your cock into any slick hole you can find for your own self-gratification. But you see,” Tarkin squeezed Krennic’s wrists for emphasis, focusing a hissing gasp to escape from Krennic’s lips.  Voice tight, he continued, “When I give pleasure it is a gift.  I take…pride in it. I invest my time and skills pleasuring my lovers.  Not that it is any of your concern or business.”

Tarkin’s voice lowered as he continued on, “I’ve shared my bed with those that would view you as nothing more than a bothersome…parasite.  Made them cry my name in ecstasy and made them beg for more.” Wilhuff then leaned in close to the shell of Krennic’s ear and hissed, “You wouldn’t be worthy of fetching their boots.” 

Tarkin fell silent.  Krennic was just beginning to think he would be released.  Instead Tarkin maintained his vice-like grip and continued, “I do believe it is time to drive home the lesson of respect into you. Present it in a way that you best understand.”  A pause and then finally Tarkin released his hold upon Orson’s wrists.  His hand then snaked around to the front of Orson’s trousers, searching. Elegant fingers brushed against the hard bulge there and upon feeling Krennic’s blatant evidence of desire, Tarkin murmured, “You are such a _whore_ , Orson.”

Orson again said nothing, merely smirked.  It was all playing out so perfectly. Better than he had ever hoped. 

Tarkin’s fingers continued to laze and tease.  “So what is this?  A plea for attention?  Hmmm?  Do you need your Governor to take care of you?  Better than those nameless cadets, officers, and perhaps even pleasure slaves you spilled into? Hmm?  You need _quality._   You need fucked by somebody that knows what to do, correct?  And being the weak willed creature you are the only way you could make this come about is by goading me into action. Forcing my hand. Or shall we say…cock.  Was this a test?  To see if I am still capable?  Curious?”  Tarkin pulled Krennic’s hair for emphasis. “You aren’t putting up much of a fight.  And that mouth is finally blessedly silent.”

“You try so hard.  So very hard to be more than what you are.”  Tarkin’s voice was now a low growl, almost feral, and not like the smooth clipped voice Krennic was accustomed to. There was a rough tug as Tarkin unfastened the long flowing cape at Krennic’s shoulders, throwing it to the floor. “You remind me of the scavengers on the Carrion.  When I observed them, I would watch them trail the more powerful, adept predators.  Keeping to the shadows.  Bellies low to the ground and ears back.  Tracking until the predator would successfully bring down a herdbeast.  Once they succeeded, these scavengers would then rush in and, on occasion, successfully drive the predator away, thus claiming its kill.  Getting the glory.”  Tarkin paused and then leaned close, “That is you. Manipulating. Slinking and biding your time and getting glory that is…not…yours.”

Krennic managed another choked laugh, “I do…whatever it takes…Wilhuff.”

“Stay. There.”  Tarkin’s voice was ice. “Twitch so much as a finger and you will regret it.  Deeply.”  Tarkin rose and released the fistful of hair.  Orson could hear his footsteps tracking back to behind his desk.

There was the sound of a drawer opening, closing, and once again the brisk tap of Tarkin’s boots as he returned to his position behind Orson.

 _What was the old wolf up to now?_ The excitement was almost too much to bear and Orson shifted his hips against the desk.

Orson could hear the soft rustle of fabric and knew that Tarkin must be unfastening his trousers.   There was the sharp *click* of a lid opening.

 _That cagey bastard…he kept lube in his drawer?_ Orson then realized just how much he had underestimated Wilhuff Tarkin.

Tarkin’s fingers then deftly undid Krennic’s trousers, roughly shoving them down to the floor.  Krennic then felt Tarkin’s soft hand whisper down his flank, down the plump swell of his ass.  Appraising him.  Krennic drew in a sharp breath at his touch, sparks of pleasure flaring upon his skin. 

“Spread your legs.  Open yourself to me.  Like the whore you are.”

Tarkin’s voice was low and his breath ragged.

For once Krennic complied to an order immediately and without question. There was a pause and then he felt a cool slickness, what must surely be what was in that bottle Tarkin had retried, being poured over him.  Goosebumps prickled Orson’s flesh at the sensation of the liquid making its way down the cleft of his ass.

Tarkin’s slicked fingers lazed over Orson’s tight opening, murmuring low in appreciation, “Hmmmm….seems you are not completely…ruined.”  He teased at the tight ring of muscle before slowly inserting a single exploratory finger deep, causing Orson to moan softly. 

“Moaning? Already? Really now…you ARE a needy little whore, aren’t you.”  There was a pause and then Tarkin then added a second finger, pushing in hard and going as deep as he could before hooking his fingers and pushing slowly downward, applying pressure at exactly where it would cause the most exquisite, almost torturous, pleasure.

Orson’s body shuddered in response, wracked with pleasure.

“P…please.”

Tarkin continued to work his fingers deep and murmured, “Please…what?”

“P…please f...fuck me.”

Tarkin sniffed.  “And why would I fuck the likes of you?”  An insolent whore with no respect.”

Tarkin’s words were steel enrobed in silk. 

With a tight grin, Tarkin then added yet another finger, pressing and working Krennic open even further.  Preparing him.  Spreading him.   

As his fingers worked, coaxed, and teased Krennic, Tarkin took his free hand to laze and tease Krennic’s straining cock.  He made sure to just barely brush the fevered flesh.  Just enough to hint at the pleasure he could give.  Leaning down Tarkin again pressed his lips close to the shell of Krennic’s ear and hissed, “I will fuck you but you are not permitted to come.  Do you understand?  I am going to fuck you and fill you with my seed.  And then I am going to send you out with me leaking from you.  You are going to board your shuttle with my come weeping from you and you are going to think about what happened here.  Do. You. Understand?”  Each word was punctuated with a firm press of Tarkin’s fingers.

Krennic only managed a choked, “Y…yes.” in response.

“Yes what?” Tarkin snarled.

“Y...yes…..S…Sir” Krennic gasped.

“Very well. I am so glad we understand each other.”

Tarkin gave Krennic’s cock one final lingering caress and then slowly withdrew his teasing fingers.

Orson’s breathing was hitched and uneven.  Brashness and bravado was long gone replaced with shameless need.  There was a white-hot ball of tension in his guts.  He was instructed not to come but he wasn’t sure that was an order he could follow.

Grabbing Orson’s hip for leverage Tarkin teased his cockhead over the slicked and readied opening, sliding it slowly up and down, pausing as if he were going to finally push inside but then moving away from the readied opening.

Krennic could only buck his hips, rut the air, and mewl in his desperation to be filled.

“You are so pathetic.”

Finally, after Orson’s mewling, desperate cries reached a pitch Tarkin found acceptable, he pushed inside Krennic’s tight heat with a rough, possessive grunt.  He let his cock settle a moment before he began to thrust with slow, controlled strokes. 

“Remember boy, you are not to come.  Insolent whores with no manners are not permitted to come.”

Krennic nodded and panted, “Yes…s…sir.  I will not come.”

With a growl Tarkin increased the speed and intensity of his thrusts.  “My...you…are tight…for such a ….whore.”

Krennic focused on maintaining control. His cheek still throbbed from Wilhuff’s blow. It had been so very long since he had been filled, been taken.  He squeezed his eyes tight and bit his lip in an attempt to distract himself.  If he could just hold off…prove his control…perhaps he could have this again. Perhaps next time he would be permitted release.  He just had to prove his worth this one time.

With a carnal groan of pure pleasure Tarkin allowed himself _his_ release, spilling his hot seed deep inside of Orson. 

Filling him.

Owning him.

Spent, Tarkin, sank down on top of the trembling Director.  He waited for his breath even out before allowing his softening cock to slip from Krennic. 

Orson, his own cock leaking and painfully unsatisfied, remained prone on the desk. He dare not move, nor speak, until he was told he was to do so.  He could feel Tarkin’s essence spill from him, its sticky heat painting his thighs.

There was soft the rustle of fabric as Tarkin rearranged his clothing, collecting himself. 

There was no warmth in Tarkin’s voice as he addressed Krennic, his tone again clipped and precise. “Now then.  Get yourself together and…get out of my office.  Out of my sight.

Krennic stood, finding his legs unsteady.  His arms and wrists burned.  He carefully pulled up his trousers, his still hard cock bobbing as he did so.  Carefully he tucked the still-hard length inside.  He then gathered his cape which lay crumpled on the floor and fastened it about his neck.   

Finally he met Tarkin’s gaze and ran a hand through his hair.  “Yes Sir.”

Tarkin once again sat behind his desk.  His uniform was crisp and unwrinkled as if he had just donned it.  Not a hair out of place, no flush upon his face.  His demeanor gave no indication of anything other than calming sitting behind his desk, conducting a meeting.  If at this very moment a fellow officer came into this office, they never would have been able to surmise that Tarkin had just fucked Orson’s ass soundly.

Smiling thinly and pinning Orson with a steely gaze Tarkin sniffed. “Sir?  Hmm.  Perhaps I can…drive some sense and respect into you after all.  And also I prefer the title of Governor.  Now go.  Your shuttle is waiting, correct?”

Krennic offered a curt nod in acknowledgement and then spun on his heel to leave.

“Oh…and….Orson…upon your return, I expect you to be in my office one hour after landing. You need more work.  More…refinement.”

Krennic turned to boldly meet the Moff’s gaze.  Licking his lower lip suggestively. “I look forward to your lessons, Wilhuff.  With your guidance and knowledge I am sure I will go quite…far.  For a…mere scavenger…anyway.”  Yes he was not permitted to come, an action Krennic had never experienced before in his life.  It was foreign to him being so denied.  He found himself very much looking forward to earning this privilege with Wilhuff.

Krennic again bowed slightly, turned and left. 

Tarkin let the use of his first name slide and only offered a slow, wolfish grin before murmuring, almost to himself, “We shall see.  We shall see.”

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading. I hope you enjoyed and here, have a cookie!


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